Duet
by SkyScraperKing
Summary: Sometimes, you don't become aware of the most important things until the morning. Ichigo is no exception.  Grimm/Ichi


**Duet**

The sunrays, absorbed by the curtains, made him open his eyes. His sight seemed blurred, which made his environment look enjoyably soft and the semidarkness appear more inviting than it really was.

His glued eyelids swiftly closed to revise that state as fast as possible. There was, however, no satisfying effect, it only resulted in his sight blurring even more. So he just prevented every try that might follow by closing his eyes again.

His thoughts dripped ropy into his consciousness. For a short moment, he didn't even know where he was and an intense ebullition of panic attacked him. But his concern diffused as fast as it had come up, when the awareness slowly overtook him. Becalmed again, he buried his head in the pillow in order to escape the sunlight, still drowsy. A loud yawn.

The material of his blanket rustled above him, oddly far away from his body so that the movement could impossibly be caused by him. He heard a defiant grumble near to his ear and couldn't help smiling contentedly. Suddenly, the impressions overwhelmed him as if he was intoxicated – but in a very pleasing way, so that he couldn't resist and had to surrender to their delightfulness. The weight resting on him – like a velvety stone. The calm, flat breathe, that warmly touched his skin and tickled his neck. The hand abutting above his own.

He loved his hands. With their long and (to his honest surprise) well-tended nails and the countless minuscule scars and flutes that covered their backs. Those hands which raised a sword without any grace but all the more precisely and fatally. The nails which surely wouldn't hesitate to scratch his skin and leave marks with the simple intent to injure. Those rough hands which had casually discovered every part of his body and under which he every time once more molt away like snow in the springtime. And it wasn't only those hands which arrested him in such a ferociously glorious way…

He loved the glances he was hit by. Those that were as keen as thousand knifes and showed the furious wish for his elimination. Just as much as those that existed only between the two of them – the clandestine ones which were allotted for nobody but them. When they were lost in the risky illusion of being alone and unhindered. Then there were exactly those glances which had the ability to raise his fears. The glances he didn't know how to interpret because they were completely different. So soft. So deep. So promising.

He loved that voice, incessantly full of anger, addressing unfair words to him in order to agitate his soul. Loved it when they bickered – when they gave each other hell and the air was full of their almost fanatic hate to each other. They were hardly ever willing to talk normally. He liked it that way.

He liked it when they made displacing each other their business – when they didn't let pass a single chance to subdue the other once and for all. When they played their power games – always with the scurrile ulterior motive to eliminate the opposition some day. And they yearned for that day inexorably moving closer as much as they detested it. Both of them – he knew it.

He loved being exposed and seduced. When those blue eyes looked at him in such a maliciously loving way and he delivered himself up without even being asked or forced. He didn't have a choice, because he couldn't resist against those touches – those kisses. Or he didn't want to, because he wanted him to play with him like with a mouse, he liked to be caught as if he were between the paws of a murderous cat.

He needed that tempestuous, stormy temper, because it filled him and completed him. He desired that wild and rampant being taking whatever it wanted – brutal and hard-edged. Fascination beast. He loved that unrestrained, brisk way of living which was always with them. When they faced each other and, for a long time, didn't do anything but keeping quiet. When they crossed swords. When they loved each other like the enemies they actually were. Love-hate at first glance.

But most of all he liked being the one who turned the tables. When he had the opportunity to captivate his rival. When his opponent writhed underneath him and twitched due to his thrill. When the control was his and he could be that scheming, dishonest beast which was usually sleeping in his soul. When he radically rubbed the pride out of his eyes. When he felt sadistic enough to torture that proud carnivore. When he alone was the one to bring his enemy – his beloved – to his knees. That were the moments when he defended himself. Then he presented his whole disagreeableness. Then he didn't want to be once more the plaything he had been about a hundred times.

He was that egoistic. Sometimes that circumstance caused such a bad conscience that he became depressed. He lied to his friends. He betrayed all people he knew or he was rudimentally involved with. He didn't only endanger himself by his selfish behavior, but everyone. All of them who trusted him, who believed in him and were naively confident of him never acting ruthless or egoistic. He accepted that as if it was completely insignificant – since the suffering of all people on this whole world was meaningless compared with his self-deception. He made himself a traitor for a sea of black felicity.

He risked his whole life for some fleeting moments because his own blindness made him think that this sacrifice was necessary. That those few hours they shared were worth throwing away everything which had ever been near and dear for him. Because only those hours were able to make him feel blissful. Because only those moments were able to make him feel complete.

He smirked as he gently – nearly shyly – reached out for one of the hands which in the meantime had stopped stroking him. That smell… His fingers tenderly touched the knuckles in order to subtly signalize his awakeness. But he realized that his gentle action caused nothing but another growl so that he had to resort to more drastic action.

He sat up in order to break away from the body next to him. Successfully, but without reaching his real aim. He sighed loudly before he raised his voice. Loud and penetrating: "Get up, Arrancar."

The eyelids finally raised. "Shut up, Shinigami."

He smiled and achieved a warning glance. Everything was in order.


End file.
